


snake charming

by discountghost



Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Consensual Sex, Demons, Everyone is whipped for Sehyoon, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Princes & Princesses, We're all Simps for Sehyoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28910919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountghost/pseuds/discountghost
Summary: Rumors of a prince handsome beyond comparison have long since traveled the kingdoms. Byeongkwan hailing from the North, has long since heard them, but has never had the chance to act upon them. Until now: when the South announces that their prince is ready to be courted.Or: The Bachelor, but make it supernatural and very gay.
Relationships: Kim Sehyoon | Wow/Everyone
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	snake charming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to this fic. This is just me indulging my love of monster boys and simping for Sehyoon because that's all I'm good for. Please enjoy!

Byeongkwan considers himself to be the kind of person that plays well with others.

He thinks this, though, not lightly. Especially not when he treads into the territory of the South. The weather here is nicer, veers more towards warmth and humidity where his northern home speaks more in chilly whispers and icy tickles at exposed skin. He learns this bit the hard way; he’s drenched in sweat. He’s already shed several layers since his departure from the larger group, but he feels like he’s  _ still _ wearing too much. He swipes at his forehead, but he doesn’t stop. Not when he’s this close.

But — back to the point of playing well with others. The creature that stares him down doesn’t seem to be of a similar ilk. Creature might also not be the right word. Her hair is cut into a harsh bob that cuffs her chin, eyes narrow and narrowed still as she watches him with a certain look of disdain. That’s not, however, what has him making mistakes with his word choices. It’s the scales. There’s a dozen or more on her neck alone where it’s exposed, ringing around flesh like a necklace. They’re the same colors as her hair and when his gaze drifts down, he sees more. A lot more. The entirety of her lower half is covered in them. But it also speaks to the fact that her lower half is  _ snake. _ His heart jumps a bit. Not out of fear; he’s tossed that aside some time ago. Or he thinks he did. 

No, this is the kind of excitement and adventure and  _ other _ that he’s heard so much about the kingdom to the South. But it’s not the most he’s heard about and that prompts him to ask his question again: “So anyone can be here?”

Here — in the palace of the South’s prince. The abode of a bachelor apparently opening his doors to suitors. Royals, nobles, those that he deems worthy; anyone. He figures being human doesn’t count him out. His smile is wide, friendly. He hopes it’s enough to at least keep this interaction from getting wildly volatile.

The woman flicks out a forked tongue the color of midnight, the color of her hair and scales and maybe a little lighter than the underbelly scales he sees when she lifts up. His people have a word for what she is. It’s not often spoken pleasantly. He’s also seen a fair amount of her kind — a lamia; a word they carried over from a kingdom closer to the west — but they’ve been feral and much less elegant and just as deadly. He swallows as she does a sort of sway. It’s reminiscent of a snake and he tenses, waiting for the strike. It never comes.

She turns her head one way, fixes a narrow green eye at him. “You’re human.”

“Yes.”

It’s a simple enough observation. She scents the air again. “Royal from the North.” Her smile is all sharp teeth. Little daggers that sit in a mouth that spreads a little wider than he’s used to.

“That’s — that’s right.”

“Come this way.” She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand and the midnight shimmer of her hanbok sleeve shifts. He notes, absently, that the human-looking parts of her are pale. Almost white, with the faint rosiness of inside of a lotus bud.

She slithers ahead of him and he watches the way the muscles under her scales push her forward until he considers if that’s rude or not. He tries the back of her head instead. It seems like a safe enough place to look. That is, until they actually enter the palace.

He’s not sure where he was before, but it’s a far cry from where they are. Byeongkwan has heard many things about the South and its palace and its prince. That the trees rise high and dense. That the walls are no more than crumbling rocks from temples and civilizations that they stamped out. He suspects some of these things are lies, but he does believe the portion about the trees. There’s so many and they’re thick in spurts and sometimes they stand alone. He licks his lips as the large gates are pulled open before he and the woman he’s starting to suspect runs this whole suitor business.

Snakes twist and twine on the gate, both in design and in life. Somehow, the wood looks alive and like if he touches it, he can feel the swell of muscle not dissimilar to the way the lamia moves. He corrects himself again; she’s  _ not _ a lamia. She twists to look at him. There’s a sort of knowing in her eyes as she takes in the way he’s stopped to gape at everything. She’s got too much sentience to truly be a lamia and when she grins again, there’s a chill playing along his spine. Demons are purportedly worse than a run of the mill creature. The peak of a horn — perhaps the only tell that differentiates her from the arguably lesser species — is low on her forehead.

The South is the home of demons and of a prince that people say is too beautiful to look upon. Byeongkwan reasons wanting to see if it’s true is a good enough excuse from turning his caravan towards the waiting gates of his enemy. He’s always been looking for this excuse, if he’s being honest. Proposing to take his hand in marriage also seems like a good bid for peace. He could easily be felled on the spot. This attendant could very well do it herself. He eyes her tail warily, steps a fraction of an inch away out of instinct.

“What business does a beast hunter have with the hand of our prince?”

He blinks. She’s close. A viper; she’s already struck. Her belly is low to the ground, but she holds her torso high enough that they see eye to eye. The slits of her pupils are unwavering darkness that matches her hair and scales and clothes. 

“Who wouldn’t want to wed a beauty such as your prince.” It’s not the answer he means, but he can’t find the right words. Not yet.

She regards him, draws back. Her lip curls up in a half sneer and he sees those teeth again. The shudder he feels this time is less out of excitement and more out of the instinct that lingers beneath a — in his opinion — solid resolution and self-restraint. “Very well.”

They continue. He steps up a ramp and is lead down winding halls that make his head spin. There are doors they pass that he attempts to peer into, but they’re either shut before he can see anything or the attendant says something that draws his attention. The walls and floors and supporting beams are all brown and green, covered in foliage. He marvels at that, too. The courtyard, though, is what really takes his attention. It’s lowered down into the ground, practically a pit. The ramp down to it is stamped with boards that jut out slightly. He notes steps on the side that he’s not been lead down. It’s also filled with sand. Grains that range from a deep black to as pure a white as it can get. They mingle together somewhere in the middle to the kind of brown, muddy sand he’s used to. And from that springs a great tree. Blossoms of various shades of pink and white and orange stud the tree. He follows the trail of ropes that hang from it to find cloth hammocks and swings that remain empty.

“You can wait here.”

It’s a bit jarring, but not really, to not be given a royal reception. He hasn’t been announced or named or anything. Just —  _ they let him in. _ It speaks to their confidence of being able to protect their royals. Which, in turn means they’re quite confident in their ability to kill a man. He remembers the way several guards had eyed the jagged blades at his hip, then drifted to his face with something that glimmered like a challenge in their eyes. They, too, had been equipped with blades and claws and talons. He thinks his reputation precedes him a little. But, he’s always been someone that can play well with others.

Byeongkwan nods, turns back to look at the tree. The sand is hard enough that he doesn’t sink in, but it gives way under his feet just a little. His boots are caked in mud; had he tracked that all through the palace? A mild flash of horror crosses over him, but he can’t focus on it for long. Something shifts at the corner of his vision and he lets his attention dart toward it. His fingers twitch with the reflexive intent to go for his knives, but he holds back.

It’s just a horse. It looks at him, hair a glossy brown like the earth — and snorts. There’s a streak like a scar along its chest. Its mane and tail are almost the same color as its hair and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It’s got more than four legs. Six, exactly, that he can count. It lays in the sand as if it has always been there and he notes with stark clarity that there’s no way it has been since he’s gotten there. He blinks and it’s up on its feet, trotting towards him. Trots  _ around  _ him. It neighs and it sounds supiciously like a laugh, head tossed back as it trots up to the tree. The trunk of the tree is even larger than the horse, he realizes. Large enough that when the horse walks around, it disappears completely from view. The tree itself is of great height (great tree, and all that) and he’s only partly distracted by the sway of the leaves and the illusion of something in it. It doesn’t occupy him enough that he misses the horse coming back around as  _ not _ a horse. Not fully, anyways.

Where its head had been tapers the torso of a man, fitting garments around his arms. Fingers deftly do ties and buttons on what looks like a complicated version of a tunic. The face that looks back at him isn’t equine in the slightest. Byeongkwan knows well enough that a demon is at least some part human. The other half is a varying amalgamation of their power and the distribution of both is as random as the grains of sand he would find on a shoreline. It becomes clear, though, that there may be a less random hand in the beauty that the human portions are crafted to hold. The once-horse’s brows are drawn, not quite touching and his eyes are wet and almost as dark as the black sand at his feet. There’s a fair amount of unfairness that crosses Byeongkwan’s mind like a tiny child’s whine as he notes with great reluctance that the once-horse is  _ pretty _ . He probably knows it, too, because he prances around under the tree until he reaches a swing. It can’t possibly hold all of his weight, but the other doesn’t seem interested in that. Instead, he drops down in the way horses do to rest — first his front legs bend and his knees sink lightly into the sand, then the next pair and the last. His tail swishes out, rakes lightly at the sand beneath. The wood of the swing groans, the branch drooping in protest to the sudden weight of the once-horse’s torso resting upon it.

His lips are up in a smile that feels distinctly mocking and Byeongkwan feels that familiar itch to reach for his blades. 

“Oh, please. You wouldn’t have the time.” His voice dances like a song. A cheery note of satisfaction follows and Byeongkwan flushes.

“How do you know that?”

The once-horse just smiles. His tails flicks again as he rests his head on his arms. His skin veers almost to matching the less muddy sandy beneath him. Lashes fan out over his cheeks as he shuts his eyes and he looks almost like a painting of a saddened maid. If not for the fact that his lower half is that of a six legged horse.

“I wouldn’t count him out.” A new voice. It floats around him, drifts down over the two of them. The once-horse’s ears flick back this time —  _ how _ it still manages to be such a horse-like thing, he can only attribute to magic — but his eyes remain closed. “You’ve barely crossed a continent and you’re already tired.”

“And I got here before you.” A yawn follows and the voice laughs. A sound that’s just shy of a bark, but is pleasant no less. The sound itself seems to bounce around the courtyard, dance around the tree. 

“But how would I have bested you in time?” The voice is simpering, the edges of something like a whine in the tone. This time, though, it has a definite point of origin and when he looks, Byeongkwan spots a fox in the hammock on the other side of the tree. 

It’s stationed itself farther from the once-horse and Byeongkwan blinks — are foxes supposed to be white like that? White might not be the right word; he’s finding he doesn’t have the right words for much of what he’s seen today so far. There’s the faintest reflection of a clear spring; that is, the fox might be blue. It might still be white. Byeongkwan blinks again and the fox is staring directly at him. Its lips curl back into a smile mixed with a snarl. The hammock sways with a breeze he doesn’t feel and the fox is soon replaced. Much like with the horse, a person a beauty sits in its place. Byeongkwan doesn’t realize he’s stepped closer until the smile truly does turn into a snarl.

“Keep your distance, human prince.” The voice is sweet but laced in a venom so potent Byeongkwan can feel it dig into him. The last two words in particular. They settle over his skin like a brand and he’s reminded that he’s lower on the food chain than he might think. 

The twitch of his fingers, the aching song in his bones telling him to find escape, makes the other two in the courtyard chuckle. A pristine brow raises as the once-fox reclines. Long hair spills over their shoulders in plenty. Byeongkwan’s brows furrow as he takes in the pearls that are placed on the other’s lashes, trying to at the least hold some sort of gaze.

He’s not unfamiliar with shows of strength like this. They think — he thinks they think — they scare him. On a level, they might. At the moment, they don’t. He’s more fascinated than anything, pushing down instincts to marvel at the strange creatures before him. The once-horse’s tail flicks and the once-fox’s ears (they’re very much still fox ears; they sit high on the creature’s head) turn slightly.

“Oh.” The once-fox’s tone is soft, almost endeared. “I take it Lia said yes.”

It’s not directed at Byeongkwan, just as the once-fox’s attention isn’t on him anymore. Instead, it’s on the approaching footsteps of a rabbit that thumps down the ramp. It’s large; larger than any rabbit that Byeongkwan has seen. Its fur is black as a starless night, save for the eyes. It’s ringed in white like the creature is wearing spectacles. Its wet nose twitches as it stands up on its haunches. A red cloth is tied around its neck. It looks like a little messenger, even more so as it hops its way over to where the once-fox has their arms open.

He has an excuse to study both creatures closer, steps careful. The once-fox regards him a moment, but doesn’t warn him off again. Up close, close enough that he came smell something sweet like the blossoms of the tree, he notes that the once-fox is still...changing. Shifting. He blinks and a new feature softens out or sharp. Angles melt and bend and become something else. A startlingly distinctly female appearance wavers to reveal something male underneath and the once-fox’s teeth are prominent. On display, surely. Canines that poke out slightly as he smiles down at the rabbit now in his hands.

The rabbit fills up the other’s arms and then some. It hangs long as the once-fox adjusts his hold on it. Gives off a soft squeak before one of its hind legs thumps down on the fox’s thigh. Another barking laugh fills the air and the fox sets the rabbit down. The rabbit almost looks sullen, standing up on its hind legs and attempting to get back in the fox’s lap.

They seem to forget Byeongkwan. He wouldn’t let that be done easily.

“Who’s Lia?”

Three heads jerk up to look at him. One (the fox) looks incredulous. Another (the rabbit, though he’s not sure if he’s reading the animal’s expression well enough) looks offended. The once-horse hasn’t opened his eyes, but his lips curl up in a smile and his brows furrow as they do open. As if he can’t decide if he should cry at the question or laugh.

He repeats himself when several seconds pass and he doesn’t get an answer.

The intial shock wears off, it seems, because the fox cocks his head to the side — then promptly looks away. Fluffs the tails that Byeongkwan had avoided looking at before (he’s still not sure what the etiquette of looking at tails is). The once-horse rests his head back on the arms laid over the swing, grumbles something under his breath. Byeongkwan thinks the word “humans” might be in the mix. The rabbit, though, hops his way. It’s a two-footed stamp that greets him, then a headbutt. Then, as Byeongkwan struggles to think of what the other wants aside from conveying that it’s been offended in some way, it  _ speaks. _

“Unbelievable!”

He thinks a talking rabbit is more unbelievable — or at least it should be.

“You look upon her every night, tell tales of her.” The rabbit has taken to hopping in an angry circle around him as it speaks. The voice is clear and sounds an awful lot like it’s pouting. “And you don’t know her name?”

“I.” He has nothing to say to this. “I’m sorry?”

“You will be! Just you wait! When the prince chooses me—”

“Don’t go getting ahead of yourself, little one.” The once-horse’s laugh is mirthless. His still reflects an indecision on whether to laugh or cry. “You might be special, but you aren’t so special that the prince will choose you.” He puffs his chest, places a hand over his heart. “ _ I, _ on the other hand, make for an excellent choice.”

“You’re no spring chicken.” The fox chimes in with a smile that could cut. “I don’t think the prince would want for a lover that tires as easily as you do.”

The once-horse bristles, rises from his lounging position in the sand. The rabbit, however, beats him to the punch: “If that’s the case, then I’m more than better!”

“He’d devour you.” They turn to look at him as Byeongkwan supplies his input to the quickly devolving bickering. He has to fight a smile as the fox laughs — still a bark, still a musical chime that mixes with the horse’s own chuckle that makes him think of rolling fields and open skies. The rabbit stomps both of its hind legs again. And again as they continue to laugh.

But just as the fox and horse had changed, so too did the rabbit. Arms and legs spread out of the black hairs of the rabbit. Muscle and skin folded, stretched and twisted into the limbs of a human form. The red cloth was soon a too-large coat that covered the rabbit’s now human body. Red ringed eyes stares him down as the once-rabbit stomps again for good measure. “He wouldn’t!” The eyes that stare at the human prince widen and his voice lowers just a touch. “And if he did want to, I would let him.”

“Brave words.” The once-horse trots closer. “But you’ve got two other predators to survive.”

Byeongkwan watches as the rabbit considers the words and the moment he comprehends them is clear. His ears droop, press back against his head as he pushes back toward the tree. Too fast; he stumbles and his shoulder knocks into the tree. Several leaves fall with the impact. But that isn’t what draws Byeongkwan attention. No, he’s suddenly more concerned with something that twitches as if waking.

He’s seen this particular shift of muscle under skin before. His head tips back. It’s hard to see, what with the shade and the way the flesh of the creature blends into the tree. It might have gone unnoticed for longer if it hadn’t moved, but the rabbit’s antics had woken it from its slumber. The clop of hooves sounded as more guests arrived, but Byeongkwan could not care.

He can’t tear his eyes from the sight of the snake that opens its eyes. It’s nested in the branches, curled up tight like a fist. Somehow, though, it seems to hang over the sides of the branches in a fashion that seems all too limp. The head disappears among the leaves and blossoms as it moves. The human prince steps closer to the tree, but it’s still hard to see. The other are just as eager; the horse has placed his hands on Byeongkwan’s shoulders and presses down to get a better angle on him. The rabbit is snug against him, hunched and peering out under Byeongkwan’s chin. The fox maintains some distance, but he might as well be stepping on the others in an attempt to climb into the tree. The human in the configuration would certainly protest to this in any other circumstance, but he’s busy like the others. Busy watching the slow creep of fingers that taper off into talons as the pull the body forward. The coil of a tail as it wraps around branch and trunk for balance. The sun that comes in from the opening of the courtyard hits those scales as the creature inches forward almost shyly. Coyly. The fabric of its hanbok is almost the same color as the tree and its blossoms. 

Beautiful is not the right word. The rumors are nothing more than dull whispers to the reality they mean to convey. Byeongkwan’s jaw goes slack, just shy of dropping open if not for the head under his chin. No, beautiful is the last word for the prince that slinks out of his hiding spot. His cheeks are dusted pink and his gaze is everywhere, but on them. A few moments pass as the long expanse of his tail finally plops down onto the sand. The sleeves of his hanbok billow out around his hands, hiding all but the long talons that serve as nails.

The sand shifts again, and the quartet looks to Somin. She arrives with a smile, like she’s been anticipating this very moment. The smug air that surrounds her is no different from a mother preening over praises of their child. Byeongkwan isn’t sure how relationships work for demons, but he supposes this is something he can learn in the future. Now, though, his attention is trained on the prince.

The prince of the Southern Kingdom has always been the subject of rumors. From the moment of his birth, lips carried stories and fables about him. From station to station, nation to nation, it changed. But what remains so evidently, painfully the same is the smile that rests on his lips. Careful and reserved; perhaps a means to hide the teeth in his mouth that could snap Byeongkwan’s arm with little effort. He swallows, glances further up.

He locks eyes with the snake, and he finds himself frozen in place. He can hardly stutter out a greeting before he’s shoved aside by the rabbit. Introductions are bound to be chaotic, but he thought there might have been some sort of decorum to it. What with them all supposedly being of high station. He doesn’t mind; he prefers it this way. He’s knocked from his stupor and it gives him a chance to push down the rabbit, who quivers in front of the snake as the prince regards him.

“Greets, Your Highness.” The other prince nods his head in greeting. “I am Kim Byeongkwan—”

“You’re human.”

Byeongkwan isn’t sure what he expects of the snake. His voice is musical and sweet and a lot of other words that escape him because he’s suddenly craving the sound of it. He’s not the only one; the rabbit listens, ears twitching. The words, though, are said with a sort of surprise that doesn’t match the disdain he’s been faced with already. The snake’s eyes widen some as Byeongkwan nods, unable to find his own words now. 

The snake prince leans in close, long body slinking around him. The sand rubs against his scales and Byeongkwan notes absently that they’re  _ white. _ Or, well, look white. They match his hair, strands the color of clouds. Looks fluffy like one, too. He clenches his fingers to fight the urge to reach out and touch the other. Smaller scales dot the sides of his face, lashes not quite as pale as the rest of his hair, but light enough. Golden eyes land on the human and he shudders under the gaze. It’s not predatory — far from it — but makes him feel as though he’s an oddity.

It’s not wrong, per say.

He clears his throat, steps back to give the other space (but mostly himself). Snakes could smell pheromones, couldn’t they? Would that mean that the prince could smell him? The other’s tongue flicked out, as if his thoughts were being read, and grinned. A full smile that displayed all his teeth in their gleaming glory. Slick with saliva and venom. Byeongkwan’s gut churns and heat rises up his chest, but he can’t say that it’s fear so much as intense intrigue. A deep curiosity to know — know what, he can’t be certain. 

There’s a lot that’s being changed just by his mere presence here.

While the prince considers him, the others are quick to interject their own greetings. They seem closer, though. Like they know the prince more personally than Byeongkwan might have thought. But it’s the rabbit that shocks him.

By the time he looks down, he’s once more a fuzzy black rabbit, wearing a red hanbok this time as he peered up at the snake prince. A light of recognition hit the prince as he scooped up the tiny creature. From where he stood — which wasn’t far, considering personal space seemed nonexistent with the group — he could see the little rabbit (little in the hands of the snake prince) quivering.

The other looks ready to speak when the clop of hooves sound. The full party turns their attention on the new visitors. They resemble the horse in that they’re a mix of human and something  _ not. _ But they’re not horses; the antlers are a dead giveaway. They startle, as if they hadn’t intended to draw attention to themselves. Their bows are quick, awkward only to Byeongkwan because of the various joints he’s witnessing being put to work. He can marvel at the anatomy of the creature later, because there’s a voice calling their attention.

“Allow me to formally introduce our prince.” Somin bows deep, sweeps a hand out to gesture to the prince. “Kim Sehyoong.”

He inclines his head, still holding onto the rabbit. Cradling it now. His gaze slides over the group, favoring the horse with a look of interest and the fox with something he couldn’t quite name. 

“Why don’t we get you settled in your rooms, then?”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed the story thus far!
> 
> If you feel the urge to scream at me, have questions, or just wanna gush at me, you can reach me here:  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/discountghosts) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/remeremerem)


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